


False Book of Job

by wiederherstellendeglaubensregel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Body Worship, Failed Attempt at PWP, Failed Attempt at Reasoning, M/M, Minor Henotheistic Discussion, Orgasm Delay, Power Imbalance, Religious Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:53:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24151618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wiederherstellendeglaubensregel/pseuds/wiederherstellendeglaubensregel
Summary: The demon turns, to present all the wonders it has to Tom.Oh, fuck. Tom suppresses the urge to swear and groan until everyone in this building knows how aroused he is now. Fucking hell. The look of this creature just hits right on his aesthetics a thousand times over.In which after everything he has suffered, Tom Riddle, the poor wager of G-d and Satan is finally given a reward... or another form of torture.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 3
Kudos: 99





	False Book of Job

**Author's Note:**

> Religious Theme might be offensive to Judeo-Christian beliefs.  
> My apologies.

'So, demons really have tails.' is the first thing that comes into Tom's mind, when he is sober enough to realize that,

there's a little demon grovelling under his table. 

Plus, it's almost naked.

As soon as Tom walks into his nearly empty apartment, from which he has pledged every furniture except that tea table to pay off his debts, the creature stings his sight.

He is sure that he's awake and allergic to alcohol as always, yet the heart-shaped pointy end is still there, rooted fittingly out of the tailbone, swinging from left to right to reflect how delighted its owner is. 

One hand still placed on the doorknob, Tom studies those chubby, he dares say marshmallowy, buttocks that can barely be covered by a rather thin leather panty. So this is what they called a 'T-back'. He doesn't even know from whom did he hear about that.

And what else should he also expect? Because Tom can feel himself already hard as the burning hell, without the scene of enormous breasts pouring out of a matched leather bra, like the classical whore figure spit by his faith. 

And technically, he is supposed to be asexual.

He doubts anyone who takes a look of its inner thighs—easily observable when the demon sinks its back even lower—could resist the luring impulsion to die between such squishy heaven. It must feel like dipping your head into a bucket of sweetened coconut oil, and slowly suffocating in ecstasy. Tom swallows hard as he drops his gaze to its bare pinkish toes, curled into a coy gesture that resembles freshly harvested [Akoya pearls](https://www.multicolour.com/pearl/akoya-cultured-pearls.jpg).

Good Lord, if that bum continues to wiggle like that, he is going to… Tom takes a deep breath, then immediately regrets doing so, for this _corruption_ smells so wonderful that his self-control might be shattered into dust in a blink.

On the edge of opening his own Pandora's box, Tom tightens his grip on whatever it is, another failed attempt to stay calm, as the door is abruptly shut with a loud BANG.

Startled, the sinful creature stiffens a little, then it recedes from under the table to sit on its heels, fully exposing the most tempting body frame Tom has ever seen. 

It has wings, of course it has, but not as fearsome or filthy as Tom has imagined based on his knowledge of bats. The curious pair of extremity reminds him of a nestling’s – so small and glossy. They flutter, more like tremble, slightly with trepidation, and Tom wonders if their slick surface is about to drip honey.

He traces its curvaceous shape with his eyes. Lines contract down to the narrowest point, then stretch out a bit, where two adorable Venusian dimples locate in between, and undulate delicately to the dough-like cheeks. Tom feels his hands itch; he would so gratefully knead some love handles and taste those two petals, devour them like a savage.

Then it turns, to present all the wonders it has to Tom.

Oh, fuck. Tom suppresses the urge to swear and groan until everyone in this building knows how aroused he is now. Fucking _hell_. The look of this creature just hits right on his aesthetics a thousand times over. 

Capricious curls and a set of itty-bitty horns as fragile as newly grown delicious teeth endear its babyface easily to any living thing with proper eyesight. Marvelous, gorgeous little thing it is. Astonishingly, he also finds that the missing cleavage on its chest doesn't attenuate his carnal needs at all.

Still kneeling on the ground, the demon tilts its head and stares up at Tom with those pristine viridian eyes. 

He didn't know that a certain shade of green could turn him on. And now he does. 

Is this in fact the Final Judgement of Lust, after all the calamities he has suffered? Entranced by their intertwined vision, Tom leans slowly against the door. So at last, They-who-shall-not-be-named decide to gift him a battle that has no chance to win.

A week ago, Tom was still a successful entrepreneur who would've made the cover of Forbes by the end of this year, had the headquarter of his company not been _eradicated_ by the deadliest tornado in human history. As if the accident itself wasn't ironic enough, he learned the bloody news on his way to church. 

Within a few days, the fruits accumulated by years of hard work had gone up in smoke. Tom Marvolo Riddle was a millionaire no more, but a bankrupt facing multiple litigations from his former investors and business partners.

Of all people, those debauched, disloyal, and infidel, that should've been chosen, why him, an orphan who was raised in a monastery, and had vowed his lifelong piety to Them since eleven? Had he missed his Sunday service once? Had he neglected any opportunity to show his devotion? 

'How fair are You, I dare ask, to deprive your most pious servant of everything he has gained with blood, sweat, and tears?'

Tom believed that even if he was to die from this farce, he'd die clean. Yet the Creator now pushes him to sin.

Granted that he had failed Them through ignorance, is the punishment not cruel enough for him to become penniless, and soon homeless? Such thorough abandonment is a humiliation. 

'Well, let it be as You wish, my Lord.' Tom opens his eyes, not knowing when he did close them.

The source of all evil has come closer at some point, too close even. The petite figure stands merely one step away from the pathetic human being, watching his inner conflicts that have been displayed all over his features. 

"You're the death of me, aren't you?" Tom breaks the silence with bitterness, more like speaking to himself. Conquered by exhaustion, he slides down to the floor and looks up to examine the beautiful demon.

It really is admirably fleshy from head to toe. His eyes linger at the minute cups of its bra, and the way they slightly puff up – more delectable looking than choux à la crème fresh out of the oven. Although if hell also assigns gender, it might be a male, the sight still makes his mouth dry. 

As though having seen through his perverted mind, it hums low and wobbles the dark tail more merrily. Before Tom can catch the wandering malachites, one foot is stuck out to step on his crotch with no mercy. Under the tender warmth, Tom comes almost immediately.

In the dizziness that follows, the world goes blurry before him; he only hears the demon chuckle like a silver bell ringing, only senses the naughty toes press against him, tantalizing. Tom has hardened again in no time, breath held by the unpredictable rhythm of its movement.

"Al-ways so impudent," The creature speaks for the first time, translucent orbs glinting with aversion. Indescribable to the mortal ear, its voice flows like venomous syrup, slowly filling the entire room. "Failure of Creation."

"I thought highly of you, Tom," It continues, and tsks at Tom's lack of reaction. "I reckoned you as different from the rest."

Gradually losing consciousness, Tom feels like he is sent back to the nightmare that has haunted him for ever. He could only witness as frosty seawater wells up his nose and severe hypoxia dulls his limbs. He struggles in vain, claws his throat, only to let out a string of air bubbles that marks the passing of his life.

A child sinks to the bottom of the endless deep blue. A child who should have died at eleven.

Tom hears himself crying out in despair, soundless yet still deafening. I don't wanna die. Please. I DON'T WANNA DIE. PLEASE. He can't help but beg for salvation, offering his all—even though he owns nothing more than a wretched life—with no shame. There's no response but the echo of his weakening heartbeat. You will regret it if You refuse to lend a helping hand. YOU WILL REGRET LETTING ME DIE.

With merely his last breath left, Tom pronounces Their name. 

"I granted your wish, Tom, for you were the first to dare call on me. " It sighs, looking down upon the inactive mess of him. "Your loyalty is nothing more than repaying what you've owed me." 

"From end to end, there is no Covenant between us but your arrogance, believing that you can monopolize the favor that I've never bestowed on humanity."

All of a sudden, the wayward foot that has been manipulating Tom's arousal is shifted away. Tom falls from the summit of bliss, straight into hell. 

Tortured by the painful delay, Tom could think of nothing but his own release. Unable to raise an arm and help himself, he clenches his fists and tries to brazen it out.

It giggles and crouches down, vivid green staring at misty crimson with brutal indifference. "And you blame me for failing your faith made of a bit of wishful thinking? The gall you have, seeking to fathom splendor by means of mediocrity?" 

Tom gasps for an airy touch that is too close at hand, his mind going blank. Pitiful hands reach out to cup his face, and Tom lets himself lean on the blooming white lotus. 

He's overwhelmed by the heavenly pleasure.

"I am cruel, Tom, you accused me right." The embodiment of grace straddles just unto his bulge, resting against his ever-burning fire. "I rarely forgive, not once since my trust lost to the temptation of an apple."

"You have to understand me." It has its arms around Tom's neck, snuggles close into his embrace, listening to his pounding heart. "I survived the primal chaos through massacre; I banished my own kin for power; I used to demand human sacrifice to secure my authority."

"I have many names. I am good; I am evil. I am pain; I am pleasure. I am everything I've created. I am everything you want me to be, but not your demise today."

  
"I will give you another chance," it purrs, sticking out a lovely tongue to caress Tom's earlobe. "so that you can be my beloved _once again_."

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by  
> \- Book of Job  
> \- A Serious Man (2009)


End file.
